


What Does It Sound Like

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Category: Thor (2011), Thor (2011) RPF
Genre: M/M, The Author Regrets Nothing, Warning: Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little did Tom know what sort of mischief he'd inadvertently stirred up on Twitter <b><a href="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lu3klgF68w1qkl9e5.jpg">that day</a></b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Does It Sound Like

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely **[Genue](http://brokenheartedfestivities.tumblr.com/)**!

He closes the lid of his computer, then huffs out a self-satisfied laugh. It’s unbelievably gratifying, really, to be able to keep up with the fans and all of their little in-jokes.

If Tom’s to be honest, the reception following his turn as Loki has been a thousand times anything he ever expected. But, he’s sure as hell not going to look a gift horse in the mouth since the chance of a lifetime turned into the biggest break he ever could have dreamt up.

A glance at the nearby clock tells him that 1am is rapidly approaching. It’s late enough, and since he’s got a full day of press tomorrow for _War Horse_ , bed sounds like a wise choice.

Just as he’s drawing the covers up to his chest and reaching over the nightstand to turn off the bedside light, Tom catches a faint whiff of what smells like raw ozone. He frowns for a moment, but shrugs and rolls over onto his side once the room goes dark because the scent is gone and it was probably just some excess petroleum from one of the cars on the street, anyways.

He doesn’t dream at all, but Tom finds his sleep interrupted what he can only approximate as several hours later by what feels like someone _breathing_ on his face.

His eyes crack open just enough to offer a glimpse of his potential assailant, but all he can see is a dark silhouette. No identifying features at all. Tom curses internally, and realizes that he’ll have to move fast if he wants to catch this intruder in the act.

A quick flail of his arm luckily turns the nightstand light on, but instead of scrambling backwards or hissing a string of explicatives at him, the figure merely settles back on its haunches (now perched above his legs), a disdainful expression on its face.

... on _his_ face.

“Jesus Christ!” Tom yelps and nearly falls off the bed in his hurry to escape this rather terrifying-looking doppelgänger crouched over him.

With a low, amused chuckle, the other figure catches his wrists and eases him back against his pillow, the ease and fluidity behind the movement almost startling. “Now, now,” his twin chastises gently, a cruel smile on its lips. “Wouldn’t want you to go running when the fun’s just began, would we?”

Tom narrows his eyes at the hallucination (it has to be hallucination, either that or he’s still dreaming … or perhaps _lucid_ dreaming). “I don’t see any fun happening here, so I’d really like it if you could run off and let me sleep, if it’s all the same to you.”

His doppelgänger clearly has issues when it comes to respecting person space, because between one second and the next, the dark-haired mirror of himself is literally an inch from his nose. “I’d watch your tongue, Hiddleston, if you don’t want it ripped out of your pathetic mortal skull.”

He swallows once, grey-green eyes going slightly wide as he takes in the seriousness hiding beneath the pleasant facade the other-him is putting up.

But this isn’t a doppelgänger at all. Not with what his reply had been. This _is_ Loki. And that’s when Tom knows he’s either knocked a screw loose or had a few too many nightcaps before bed.

“Okay, so you’re the God of Mischief, I’m an actor, and you’ve invaded my dreams to fuck with my head,” Tom begins rambling again, because that seems to be the best course of action to keep Loki distracted. “Because really, that’s the only logical explanation I can come up with for this entire bizarre, fucked-up situa-“

A hand placed strategically over his mouth cuts him off and he’s left blinking up at his gaunter, dark-haired twin.

“You’re wrong on one count, Tom Hiddleston,” Loki damn near purrs, and that is a really odd thing to notice at this point. “This is most certainly not a dream. And I have not invaded anything. I’m allowed wherever and whenever I please.”

He goes still for a moment, then stares at the Norse god incredulously. “That … that was _you_?” Tom manages from behind the hand covering his mouth. “I do what I want?”

Loki allows a full laugh at that, his eyes crinkling at the edges in mirth. “Ah _yes_ … the infamous _meme_ , if I’m not mistaken.”

Christ, he knows about the meme. He knows about Twitter. At this rate, Tom’s going to either end up spilling every secret he has or he’s going to find out Loki is the one responsible for the invention of the internet in the first place.

As he tries to get his brain back under control, Tom slowly becomes aware of a hand straying beneath the hem of his loose t-shirt. He startles, then glares at Loki. “The hell you think you’re doing?”

The trickster feigns a hurt look, though he does pull his hand away from Tom’s mouth. “Merely expressing my gratitude, oh talented mortal,” he says, voice gone honey-coated. “For having had the foresight and tenacity to deliver such an impressive performance surrounding the story of my beginnings.”

“Wh-” Tom’s cut off as Loki curls his fingers over the elastic of his boxers and gives them a gentle yank, dragging them down past his upper thighs.

Oddly enough, he doesn’t shout or try to cover himself. Even more interestingly, Tom blinks at the trickster and merely waits for his next move, almost as though testing him.

He’s either too drunk right now to be making rational life decisions when it comes to being accosted by a several-thousand-year-old Norse god in his bed (who just happens to be a carbon copy of himself), or he’ll be too hungover the next morning and no one will remember a thing. It’s a win-win situation.

Tom groans low in his throat as Loki wraps a practiced fist around him, unable to feel even an ounce of shame over the fact that he’s already mostly hard.

“So eager,” Loki’s voice is suddenly right in his ear, and Tom shivers in reaction to the cool breath washing over the skin of his throat. “And so _handsome_.”

He should be fighting. He should be shoving the trickster away and lambasting him for taking such liberties. But somehow, Tom can’t find the strength to resist. It’s like Loki has found every single one of his weak spots and twisted them all so he’s nothing but putty in the trickster’s hands.

His hips twitch up into the tight, unrelenting heat of Loki’s fist (the odd contrast between the heat there and the frigid chill of Loki’s breath is enough to have his nerves firing over every inch of his body), unable to keep still even for a moment.

“Let me see you, Tom,” Loki breathes against his temple, what he can only imagine being a terrifying smile curving those lips. “I want to see you.”

Tom’s eyes snap open as he comes with a harsh gasp, his hips bucking up almost desperately as Loki wrings every last ounce of sensation from his spent body. He whines as Loki gives him a final stroke, then almost tenderly tucks his softening length back within his undershorts.

“You are a marvelous performer,” the god hums, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his brow. “I can see why they chose you.”

He grunts pathetically, slumping back down against the pillows as his muscles finally decide that it’s time to give up on supporting him any longer. “Overconfident bastard,” Tom manages, glaring halfheartedly at Loki from beneath heavy lids.

The trickster smirks at him, then offers a flourishing bow before lifting his hand and going about licking Tom’s release off his elegant fingers.

If it were possible, Tom imagines he _might_ be able to get interested again based on that alone.

But, Loki is already drawing away, slipping off the bed and rising to his full height on the carpeted floor. From this distance, Tom can see that he’s clad in what looks to be a full suit, tie and all. Somehow, there doesn’t seem to be a wrinkle or stain in sight, despite the fact that there is definitely evidence of their brief congress in his own shorts.

“Fear not,” Loki tells him, flicking the bedside light off with a click of his fingers. “I will most certainly be seeing you again, Tom Hiddleston.”

And just like that, Tom’s left alone in his room with only the mess in his undershorts and a vague hint of ozone hanging in the air like a promise.


End file.
